Paint It Black
by QTR
Summary: Written as a request. He was the only man who ever made her lose control... and for that she was grateful. GLH. Oneshot.


**A/N: This was written as a request for someone on talkcsi :)**

The bright headlights of the SUV illuminated her face revealing to him her tear-stained cheeks. She completely melted against him, burying her face in the crook of his neck as she cried; tears for the loss of her daughter and tears for how angry and spiteful of the man she had tied to the grate of her SUV she was. Why did _he_ always have this effect on her? She had never wanted anyone- not even Gil Grissom- to see her vulnerable side; she was never going to let herself be controlled by a man. Any man.

"I'm saying stop," he told her, his voice calm and steady. One of his hands was buried in her dark brown hair as she cried, his other hand holding onto the handle of her black whip which she still struggled to get from his grasp. "Heather, let go…" he quietly told her, tugging gently on the whip he held tightly in his hand.

"No," she said in defiance, barely able to ground out the simple word being too lost in her emotions. Damn him, why did he stop her? Had he forgotten what this man did to her daughter? This… monster… tortured her daughter until she died and she wanted nothing more than to inflict just as much agony upon him as he had to Zoey.

"Heather, let it go," Gil said a bit firmer than before, still trying to tug it out of her hands.

"Gil, you don't understand," Heather whispered, looking up at him through tear-stained eyes. Shaking her head, she tried to retrieve the whip once more to finish what she had started. "I have to do this, let go!"

"No, Heather," Gil calmly told her. Taking a step toward her, he put a hand on her cheek, gently brushing his thumb against her skin, drying some of the streaks of tears that had made their way down her face. "No," he told her in a tone almost nothing above a whisper. "I'm saying stop."

She stared at him for a minute through red and puffy eyes; why did he always have this calming effect on her? She was going to melt and break down and cry... but no, she couldn't. She wouldn't let this happen- she had to be the one in control. She had to let the man who had hurt her daughter know that she had the power. "Gil, let it go!" she said, almost screaming as she tried to tug the whip away from him. To her surprise he loosened his grip on the whip and allowed her to tug it out of his hands, leaving her staring at him absolutely dumbfounded.

Gil was still staring directly into her eyes, his baby blues once again sending a wave of calm through her entire body. He took a step toward her, once again reaching for the whip. "Heather… you don't want to do this."

"Yes I do," she automatically replied, gripping the black handle of the leather whip in her hand so tight her knuckles were turning white. "He killed her, Gil."

"I know that, Heather…" he responded, ignoring the occasional groans coming from the limp figure still tied to the front of the SUV behind her. "But this isn't the way, Heather…"

"How do you know?" she whispered. "How do you know that this isn't what I want? How do you know that I don't want him to suffer?" she asked, anger and spite once again flashing before her green eyes. "He's going to suffer just like he made her suffer!"

"Heather, stop it," Gil said, once again making a reach for the whip.

No one quite knew what exactly happened next. Catherine Willows had driven up in her car and witnessed the entire ordeal happen right before her eyes, but even she did not know exactly what happened. Heather and Gil struggled against each other for control of the whip for a few moments before she heard the ripping, terrible, agonizing sound of ripping material and skin. The whip had come down. Catherine gasped as she saw it the tip strike.

Heather stared at him as soon as she heard the whip come down and her eyes widened in horror as she noticed the long slash across his chest from where she had struck him. His shirt underneath his jacket was ripped straight across in a vertical line, blood seeping through into the material. Looking up at his face, she noticed that he still looked so calm… but there was also another look upon his face; pain. But not pain for him, not pain caused by her striking him with the whip… it was pain for her.

"Gil…" she whispered, watching as a single drop of blood fell onto the floor. _His_ blood.

He took a step toward her and she shut her eyes for fear of what he was going to do. Was he going to lash out in anger…?

She knew that wasn't what he was going to do the second she felt his arms wrap themselves tightly around her. Linking his hands together around his back, he rested his head against her shoulder, holding her as tightly as possible. "Heather… put it down…"

She didn't know why, but she obeyed. Slowly her grip on the whip loosened until it fell harmlessly to the ground by their feet. Shaking and whimpering pitifully, she broke down once again, beginning to sink to the ground with him as she sobbed quietly into his chest. Once she was on the ground with him he drew her to him, slowly running his fingers through her hair. "It's okay, Heather…" he told her. "It's going to be okay."

"G-Gil…" Catherine whispered, slowly walking toward him. "A-…Are you…?"

"I'm fine, Catherine," Gil told her, never loosening the hold he had on Heather. "I'm going to take her home… tell Brass when he gets here," he instructed, gently scooping Heather up into his arms.

"Gil… you're bleeding…" Catherine said, pointing to her own chest for indication.

Gil completely ignored her and walked right past her, heading to his own SUV. Opening the passenger's side door, he set Heather inside, wiping away more streaks of tears that were running down her face with his thumbs. "I'm going to take you home," he quietly told her. "And I'll make you some tea…" he added, looking straight into her eyes.

Heather nodded slowly, never breaking her gaze from his. "I'm… I'm sorry, Gil," she whispered.

"It's okay," Gil told her, his right hand gently caressing her cheek. "It's okay, Heather…"

"She's gone, Gil," Heather whispered, choking back more tears. "She's gone, and that bastard's still alive!"

"Shh…" he told her, slowly drawing her back toward him. "Shh… I know… its okay, just calm down…" he said. "We'll get him… I promise we will… and he'll never hurt anyone else again."

Heather just nodded slowly, relaxing more and more as he held onto her. Closing her eyes, she barely even noticed as he took off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders until his scent flooded her. "…Thank you…"

Gil just nodded, tucking it around her tightly. "I'm going to get in the car, okay…? I'll be right back."

Heather nodded and watched as he closed her door and jogged around to the driver's side door, getting in the car beside her. Before he was even able to put the key in the ignition she had grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly.

He shot her a small smile. "How do you like your tea?" he asked her.

"Milk and sugar…" she whispered, a small smile creeping around the corners of her mouth.

Gil just nodded, shooting her his own smile as he got himself buckled and started the car. Heather Kessler and Gil Grissom left an absolutely dumbfounded Catherine Willows at the scene with nothing more than a bloody whip, and a few drying teardrops on the ground. But none of that mattered to either of them at the moment; all Heather could think about was the effect Gil Grissom had on her, how she felt weak at the knees whenever he was around.

He was the only man who had ever been able to make her lose control…

…and for that she was grateful.

The End


End file.
